Page 48 of Scoundrel Take Me Away (Dukes in Disguise #3)

“I’m afraid I can make no such claim these days,” the gentleman replied with an easy smile. “Though I would be happy to see him. But I came here with the express purpose of meeting you.”

“How fortunate that you happened upon me, then,” Lucy said, a little wary. “I didn’t even know I’d be here this afternoon.”

“Fortune favors me. She always has.” Another charming grin. “May I join you?”

Lucy shifted in her seat, glancing about the tavern. It wasn’t quite proper for a lady to be sitting alone in the public room of a tavern in the first place, but to allow an importunate stranger to introduce himself and sit down was taking things a bit too far, even for Lucy.

As if he could read from her expression that she was about to refuse, he quickly said, “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly proper—we’re practically family, after all.”

Lucy stilled, gazing up at him in surprise with her mind racing. “You’re not… Is your name perhaps Mr. Dominic de Vere?”

Something flashed across his handsome face, there and gone before Lucy could catch it. He pulled out the chair opposite hers and sat without awaiting further permission. “You’re quick. I see why he likes you.”

For some reason, Lucy felt on the edge of her seat, poised to either flee or fight. “Is that why you’re suddenly showing an interest in your cousin’s life, after all these years? Curiosity about his intended bride?”

Those odd amber eyes widened. “Ouch. A take-no-prisoners attitude to go with the clever mind and…” He smirked a bit. “All the rest of it. No wonder Thornecliff is smitten.”

“He’s your cousin,” Lucy said, ignoring the hint of flirtation. “You’ve known each other since childhood. And yet you call him by his title rather than his name?”

“As you so rightly point out, we have hardly been on intimate terms these last dozen years or so.” De Vere sat back in his chair, the arrogant sprawl of his long legs reminding her strongly of Gabriel. “And even when we were little sprogs—my father preferred to preserve the distinction of rank.”

“So that Gabriel could never forget that he was no longer just a boy. He was Thornecliff,” Lucy mused, half forgetting that Dominic de Vere was listening. “You know, the more I hear about your father, the less I like him.”

A grin tugged at the man’s mouth. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and eyed her thoughtfully. “The feeling is mutual, I’m afraid. My father thinks you’ll be the ruin of the dukedom.”

“Me!” Outrage scorched her cheeks and the tips of her ears.

“That’s a laugh, considering how hard Gabriel has been trying to ruin the dukedom on his own for years, long before I entered the picture.

If your father wants someone to blame for the state of the Thornecliff legacy, he can take a long, hard stare into a looking glass.

From what I can tell, Gabriel has been doing essentially the opposite of whatever your father tried to instill in him as a lad, ever since your father refused to pay that bloody ransom to get him back.

And if you think I’m going to sit here and be judged and found wanting by the so-called family who abandoned Gabriel when he needed you the most?—”

Lucy stood jerkily, but she didn’t make it even a full step away from the table before Mr. de Vere shed his lazy, good-natured veneer and shot out a hand to seize her wrist.

“Is that what he thinks happened?” The intensity in his voice arrested Lucy.

“He doesn’t know.” Lucy pulled her hand free, and he let her go without a fuss, holding both hands up in surrender. “He’s lost his memories.”

“We’d heard something like that, but we weren’t sure what that meant.”

“We?” Lucy asked sharply, and he winced.

He had the grace to look a bit sheepish when he replied, “Yes, we. My father is here, too.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Lucy snatched her gloves from the table.

She felt eyes on them; no doubt everyone in the pub was watching this altercation.

The chatty landlady, Mrs. Crumple, would be ecstatic to have a box seat for the drama.

“And where is Lord Roman? Waiting to leap out and interrogate me himself?”

“No. I wanted a chance to get a look at you on my own, so I told him to go on ahead. And now that I’ve met you, I’m not so certain we ought to be interfering.”

“Go on ahead where ?” Lucy demanded impatiently.

“Up to Thornecliff, to speak with…Gabriel,” Mr. de Vere said. “About ending his engagement to you.”

Lucy’s blood chilled. Never mind that she’d lied her way into this betrothal in the first place. Never mind that she’d done it at least halfway out of revenge.

In that moment, she knew—she didn’t want it to be over.

“Mr. de Vere,” she said through numb lips, “you said you are having second thoughts about your father’s mission to force Gabriel to break off our engagement. Does that mean you won’t stop me from going back to Thornecliff now?”

“I’m not sure I could stop you if I wanted to,” the man said with a frankly appraising stare. “You’ve a very determined look in your eye. I almost feel sorry for Father.”

“In that case, could I prevail upon you to wait here for my friends, Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam Drake? I believe you are acquainted with Fitz, though it seems you no longer count him among your friends.”

“Fitz remained loyal to Gabriel when I could not,” Mr. de Vere said, casting a glance down at the scarred wood of the table. “Our friendship couldn’t survive that, nor do I blame him for its dissolution.”

“Well, that may make it awkward for you to await him here with a message from me,” Lucy said mercilessly, “but nevertheless, that is what I’m asking. I would count it as a personal favor if you would stay here at The Prancing Pony tonight and invite the Drakes to dine with you.”

He peered up at her, lips quirked drolly. “Don’t want any witnesses, eh?”

Lucy raised her brows at him and did not smile back. “Precisely.”

“Yes,” he said musingly, standing to sweep her another elegant bow. “I think you’ll do nicely. It’s my cousin who has been favored by Fortune this time, Lady Lucy. I hope he knows how lucky he is to have you.”

As Lucy marched out of the tavern and back up the hill toward Thornecliff, she wondered.

If Lord Roman was dead set against the match, would Gabriel bow to his wishes and break it off? She knew, from the way he talked about his childhood memories, that he had once held his uncle in the highest possible regard.

Though he’d learned their relationship had suffered and his uncle might not be worthy of the respect and admiration he’d given him as a boy, might Gabriel not wish to take this opportunity to mend fences?

And should she—a fake fiancée who’d inveigled herself into Gabriel’s life—not be prepared to let him go, if it would bring his family back together?

But then, who better than she to recognize the signs of another trying to worm their way back into Gabriel’s life by taking advantage of his current circumstances? Perhaps Lucy was the only person who could protect Gabriel from that threat—the Gabriel he was now , not just the boy he had been.

So distracted was she by her whirling thoughts that she didn’t notice the nondescript figure of a man sitting in the darkest corner of the pub, holding an unlit pipe and watching her leave the tavern…his flat, emotionless gaze following her progress with great interest.